News At 11
by atrish1
Summary: A near death experience for Hutch has a strange effect on Starsky and Hutch's friendship. This story previously posted in 2/06 on BCL has been revised for re-post to ffnet.
1. Chapter 1

This story was posted on BCL on Feb 2006. For some reason today I felt compelled to re-work it and re-post it.

I guess I'm a _bothie _writer—but Hutch definitely is my inspiration and _my beloved_ when it comes to Starsky and Hutch.

Hutch isn't represented much in S&H fanfic these days. I just wanted to put something up that honors Ken Hutchinson. I'm smitten with the guy—BIGTIME! This has been on my mind for some time and I feel compelled to do something about it.

I hope to post regularly more Hutch- inspired stories. There's so much Starsky fic out there and I just feel there's gotta be some folks out there waving a banner for Ken Hutchinson, too. No offense to those Starsky gals out there. You guys are doin' your thing. Very prolific bunch !!

So Hutch & bothie fans… I am gonna re-focus my attention from other stuff for awhile to try and keep it goin'

-I'm finishing up a 150+ pager – a sequel to Sonora which I hope to start posting in October

-and I'm gonna re-work and re-post another story I have over at BCL

-I also have 3-4 Hutch inspired WIP's in the works. I'll try to finish one of the smaller works and post it real soon.

I hope there are some other writers out there-- -- who will jump on the bandwagon!! H/c Hutch writers, bothie writers who have much love for Hutch, Hutch fans!!-- come out of the shadows!!

Let's celebrate the very interesting, complex, endearing, loyal, clumsy, and some times quite intimidating character that DS created.--

**Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson…Hutch.**

_Hey, a new movement has gotta start somewhere, huh?_

Now it starts.

**Disclaimer**:

_This is an original storyline based on the episode " A Body Worth Guarding." Although the direction taken in this story is original the well-loved characters are not. They don't belong to me and I don't make any money by continuing to tell their stories._

_Thanks again to the wonderful beta Donna Engle. Her diligent work of carefully editing this story is much appreciated. _

_I made a lot of changes to this story after editing simply because I found the story needed a bit more meat to fill it out so…any errors in this story should be attributed to my hard-headed muse._

_(not a death fic.)_

**News At 11**

From where Starsky stood it looked like both Anna and Hutch were down.

He tackled the shooter; roughly cuffing him and turning him over to a uniform cop, never taking his eyes off of Anna and Hutch's fallen bodies. There had not been any movement from them since the shots were fired.

Starsky, his heart pounding ferociously in his chest, made his way to them through the mish mosh of people caught up in the panicked and confused activity that follow acts of random violence. The dead weight of Hutch's body was sprawled face down over Anna's body. The panic, lights, and people running had reporters and cameramen already on the scene scrambling over the police barriers to get to the story they had come for.

Starsky was thinking how he did not want this to end up as one of those "A Love Story Ends in Tragedy- Tonight at 11" stories.

Hutch was down. Anna was down… _Dead?_

Finally slipping through the masses to get to them, he found Anna now was sitting up, her white fur coat saturated with blood and Hutch's light colored jacket shared in the eerie bright red banner that punctuated the tragedy before him.

_Who's hit? Who's hit?_

Starsky's mind was speeding in all directions, overloaded with the onslaught of information that triggers a cop's brain into action, and he couldn't process clearly the information he so desperately wanted to understand at this moment.

_Hutch?_

He knelt next to Anna who held Hutch's limp body in her hands, her eyes slightly closed.

"Anna?" Starsky managed to squeeze out.

She seemed to understand what he was asking, shaking her head as the tears streamed down her face, falling on to Hutch. Her eyes dropped to Hutch and back up to Starsky. "No…not me."

The pounding in his heart intensified. Almost blinding him, as it ignited a roar of distress in each and every nerve ending, confirming what he had already known the moment he had heard the shots. Hutch was hit.

The night started out badly…threats to the Russian ballerina's life had brought uneasiness to Starsky. Why hadn't he heeded the instinctive warning and insist that they not attempt to move the dancer, he and Hutch were supposed to be protecting, through the crowd of protestors and fans?

Starsky knew that Hutch would protect her with his life if anything went down…but he had allowed himself to be distracted by the amusing romantic vibes between Hutch and Anna. Everyone around them seemed to be caught up in it. It was puppy love, very cutesy. It had been a major mistake.

But nothing could have prepared him for what was coming their way.

Didn't know tonight would be the night Hutch would die in his arms.

Surprised he was able to speak, "Let--let me see him," he told Ana. Resting a hand on Hutch's chest, he was shocked by the pale ghostly coloring of Hutch's face. Totally contrasted by the crimson that was creeping a wide stain over his fallen partner's upper body. The colors scared the crap out of Starsky and he yelled to a terrified rookie cop who stood over them, the look of complete shock covering his youthful expression, "GET AN AMBULANCE HERE, NOW!" Starsky roared at him. "Ambulance!" The plea was tipped with enough anger to get legs and people moving fast.

Starsky's reach was hesitant, but he gently peeled back the material to peek under the shirt and the wound in Hutch's chest that was rapidly pumping out his blood. Ana, moving like a slow motion movie clip, carefully passed over Hutch's body to him. The exchange was a sacred moment and Starsky gasped when the dead weight of his partner slid onto his lap.

"Buddy," he whispered, pulling Hutch closer. Any one who had eyes could see Hutch's condition was going down quickly.

To his utter amazement, Hutch's eyes suddenly opened, staring blankly into Starsky's face.

"H-Hutch?" Starsky stuttered.

Hutch gasped for air as if he were a man who had been held under--forcing his face above the water, desperately taking in that first life saving breath. His arms possessed by wild movement as he tried to push himself out of Starsky's arms and off the ground.

Starsky knew what was happening. He'd seen it before. Cops, criminals or victims severely wounded --propelled into a blind battle to live. As if moving from the place where they had fallen would change the outcome for them. Scared and desperate to save their lives but not clear- headed enough to put their thoughts together-- they would run. Some would hide. How many times had him and Hutch had to follow a trail of blood to find the injured person crawled up in a corner somewhere or collapsed and dead on the front lawn of a friend or relative?

Hutch tried to fight his way out of Starsky's tight hold. Hutch was trying to stand up. From the look on his face, Starsky knew that if he released him, Hutch might take off running.

"No. S'alright. Part'nr. D-don't, huh?" Starsky barely choked out.

Hutch didn't seem to know where he was, or what had happened. Didn't know Starsky was holding on to him with all his strength.. He was fighting for his life. In that place between this world and the next. Fighting to keep a hold on all that he knew and loved. Fighting to live. His adrenaline fueling him for this last battle.

Starsky held on, pulling him to his chest and wrapping his arms around him. "No, Hutch! No, buddy!"

Hutch couldn't hear him. His body shuddered violently in Starsky's arms as he let out a mournful soul-wrenching groan.

"No! No! No! Hutch! Don't do this! You're not doing this!" Starsky cried.

Starsky searched Anna's face for help but her horrified expression told him what he did not want to know.

Hutch was dying in his arms. His blood seeping out between their bodies and on to the dirty street.

Starsky, shaking in despair, felt the life leave him…left Hutch…left both of them as Hutch's body slumped against him.

The world, after that loss, was a blur..

_People were roughly handling him, pulling Hutch's body away. Paramedic's'hands flying at rapid speed working on his partner. There was a muffled roar of pressure in his ears… and hands tugging at him. Separating them. Separating the living …him, and the dead…Hutch. All he could see was his best friend's ashen face, Hutch' slightly opened eyes held on to Starsky with an empty gaze. Fallen warrior. Gone forever…separated by life and death. _

_Every cop's fear for his partner and himself…a bullet._

_A news story for the public but the very crushing of his heart and soul._

_The thought of the evening's leading news story flashed in Starsky's head. Cop stories were always human interest fodder._

'_Officer killed in the line of duty. News at 11' would be the headline._

The weight of his grief was destroying him on the inside.

Hutch was gone.

Had died in his arms…and Starsky could still feel his essence all around him. Hutch's scent and blood all over him.

No No NO No NO NO, no NO NO… Starsky's whole being cried out and he wasn't sure if he was saying it out loud or yelling it at the top of his lungs. But Anna _was _screaming. All he could hear was her and the squealing siren of the ambulance as it passed by him. And when he looked down, Hutch's body was gone...driven away. Anna's arms were crushing him and her tears were hot on his neck. He couldn't breath. Hutch was dead. His partner and best friend slaughtered in the street. Gone, just like that – his body on route to the city's morgue.

"_David! David."_

Hutch had died.

"…_hospital. David?"_

Hutch gone.

"_David!"_

He blinked away tears and found Dobey was giving him a two handed shake.

Starsky pulled away from him, his stomach turning. He stumbled a few feet, vomiting violently against the red brick wall he tried to use to support himself on.

His Captain stood next to him, speaking softly, "…get you to the hospital." was all Starsky heard.

"Wha--don't need a hospital. Hutch—he's gone, Cap'n," Starsky answered weakly.

"No. They took Hutch to Memorial."

Starsky shook his head in confusion and despair. He wasn't sure what was happening anymore and he didn't care. Not now. Hutch was dead and he couldn't fight with Dobey about logistics. Morgue or hospital? Didn't matter. Hutch was dead. Nothing else mattered.

"Yeah. Okay. Hutch's body's at Memorial." Starsky said. He staggered forward, Dobey's supportive big hand on his back.

Wherever they were going, Stasky needed to see him one more time. See Hutch--tell him that he would be all right--somehow. Tell him he loved him, how much he'd miss him, and that he'd keep fighting, too, to the very end…just like Hutch had.

Promise Hutch one day they'd be together again.

That was all there was left to do.

View his partner's body and make the funeral arrangements.

**CHAPT 2**

"Detective, his condition is grave." The doctor said. "Frankly, I don't think he'll make it to morning. Very sorry if that sounds blunt, but I don't want to give you any false hope. We're getting some blood in him – trying to stabilize Sergeant Hutchinson as best we can and get him up to surgery. There's a lot of damage. We should probably wait but--we need to repair that artery and stop that bleeding ASAP. We don't have a lot of choices here – he's forcing our hand."

"Wait, wait…wait a minute… He died. I-I felt... I don't understand…" Starsky mumbled like a man high on drugs.

Dobey, well aware that Starsky was in a traumatized state, looked to the surgeon, Doctor Riche, for help with his distraught detective. It was obvious that, at the moment, Starsky was out of touch with the present reality.

"Sit down, Dave," Dobey ordered, pushing Starsky into a nearby chair.

_"Detective?"_ the doctor inquired about the name of the officer he was going to try again to explain to what was going on with the man who had been brought into the ER just under an hour ago.

"Starsky," Dobey clarified, "He's Hutchinson's partner—Dave Starsky."

The doctor continued in a sympathetic authoritative voice. "Detective Starsky--your partner _was_ dead when the paramedics arrived at the scene. We've got a great medical rescue team. They did their job and they got Detective Hutchinson's vitals back up. Quite miraculous with his injuries...he lost a lot of blood, too much blood. It's amazing how much damage a single bullet can do. But right now, he's got a heart beat and I'm going to try and help him."

Starsky and Dobey nodded sadly.

"Doctor Riche, he's on his way up to surgery!" a nurse yelled in their direction with urgency in her voice as she rushed to retrieve the elevator.

Starsky stood. Clutching the doctor's arm, he said. "Help him, please."

The doctor spoke to Dobey and a devastated looking Starsky, who was nervously rocking in his stance. He put a hand on Starsky's shoulder to soften the blow of what he was about to say. "I'm going to do everything I can for him, but you have to be prepared, detective…your friend may not make it out of surgery. I'm very sorry."

Starsky's gave him a weak nod.

Doctor Riche allowed his 'let's get down to business voice to return', "Now, I promise_,_ I'll get back to you both as soon as he's out of surgery." He delivered the words rapidly as he rushed for the elevator the nurse held for him.

-oo-

He was so grateful Hutch was alive but shock had pinned down any joy he should be feeling as he kept playing back Hutch's death. Wasn't able to let go of it, couldn't shake it off and deal with what was going on right now. A shot fired in the night and just like that, Hutch was gone. While Starsky was holding on to him, Hutch's spirit had floated away. His blood on Starsky's shirt- exhibit A.

The doctor said even though Hutch was in surgery, he was expected to live.

Did any of the doctors efforts matter.

Hutch had to know he had died. Wherever his mind, spirit, or soul was, it had to know his last moments were of him fighting for his life as his blood flowed out from the wound in his chest, settling into puddles on the cold ground beneath him. Remembered that he had severed his connection to the living. Starsky anguished over what Hutch's last thoughts were…feelings of pain and dying filling his last breaths.

How could Hutch ever find his way back to living again?

-oo-

After surgery the doctor surprisingly had arranged for Starsky to be with Hutch in ICU.

The doctor had said it was a miracle the paramedics got Hutch's heart beating again. It was a miracle he was alive after all the blood he had lost. Miracle he had made it out of surgery, they had lost him once on the table, but he had survived.

What are the chances of a guy dying twice in one night Starsky thought bitterly.

When Starsky had asked the doctor what Hutch's odds were, Dr. Riche had sadly commented, "As far as Detective Hutchinson is concerned, I think we are out of miracles, doesn't look good." He squeezed Starsky's shoulder sympathetically as he left him alone in the empty hospital corridor. That's why Starsky believed the they had let him be with Hutch when he came out of surgery.

To be with him when Hutch made his final exit. Starsky wondered how he could live through it a second time? Watch Hutch die again. Why had God chosen to be so cruel to them? There was no more hope. There never was. The single bullet that had burrowed through his best friend had been the end of all the hope there ever was.

How could he ever find something else as good as Hutch to live for? Or believe in?

So Starsky sat in a room full of machines that were keeping his friend alive and watched Hutch breathe. And waited for death to come again.

Starsky couldn't take his eyes off of his friend. He listened to the machines and watched Hutch's chest rise and dip. Not knowing when the last fall would come.

Starsky wasn't sure how long he sat there. People kept trying to talk to him. Someone had tried to give him two little yellow pills and he brushed them aside. Why couldn't they leave him alone? He wasn't going anywhere. He was mourning. He held Hutch's hand, ran a pleading hand up and down his arm, a palm to his face constantly checking for any telltale sign of fever or coldness of death.

Dobey talked to him in a stern voice but it didn't matter what he was saying.

"Uh –uhh," Starsky said dismissing him. Dobey stormed out of the room cursing "Damn it! He won't listen to me, either," to someone else out in the hallway.

As he waited, he studied Hutch closely, recording every detail of his friend to memory. Didn't want to forget anything about him. A small scar on the back of his left hand right near his thumb, rounded fingernails. Fixing in his mind Hutch's features as if he could ever forget them.

_Love you, buddy._

Starsky's eyes stung with the tears one dare not shed. The kind of tears that are shed for the lost loved ones, the kind of tears we shed for the dead. He refused to let them fall, afraid that if there was any chance at all – it could tip the fragile balance of the scale Hutch's life hung on to by a thread.

By the second day Starsky was too tired to fight off Dobey, who physically removed him from Hutch's side. Tossed him into his car and then into the shower at Dobey's home. Sat him down at the kitchen table and Edith filled his stomach with a large hot breakfast.

Starsky felt like a zombie. The walking dead—in limbo. Just like Hutch. They were always so inexplicably intertwined. And now was no different. Linked in life and in death was his cyncial conclusion.

Edith pushed him down into the large bed in their guestroom.

Edith sat on the edge of the bed. "We all are praying for him. Don't give up on your prayers, David. God can still work a miracle for us."

"You believe that?" his voice was harsh with exhaustion. "I think God is mad at us. Why? Why Edith?"

"God ain't mad at you boys, David. He's making a miracle here, you just can't see it yet, dear."

Starsky frowned and cruelly spat out, "All I've seen is blood and death. Hutch don't deserve that and neither do I. You're asking me to believe in the impossible."

"No…David. Nothin's impossible. You believe in somethin', things can get turned around."

Picking up his hand in both of hers, she spoke words to encourage him, "David, you have to know there's something very special about you two. You boys are _so _connected. I'm sure Ken knows exactly what you're going through, and I bet he's depending on you to not give up on him." Probing his eyes with hers as she made her declaration, " Now, Harold told me what the doctor said, but they don't know everything. You keep talking to God and we'll keep praying. Don't _ever_ give up on Ken. Let's just see what happens. OK?"

"I can't feel him anymore, Edith. It's like he's gone already."

"Let's just see what happens," she repeated with a warm smile.

She closed the door behind her when she left. Starsky figured it wasn't locked but visualized the cop Dobey probably had sitting on the other side of the door served the same purpose. There would be no escape and he was too exhausted to attempt one anyway.

He wanted to close his eyes but thought about what Edith had said and tried to keep his eyes open. Talked to God. Put his heart into it. Made the kind of promises one could only make with God and hoped it would help keep Hutch on this earth.

Lying on his back he locked his eyes onto the white ceiling, hoping it would keep him from dreaming. Expected there would be nothing but blood and nightmares. But the freshly laundered smell of the crisp linen seduced him, taking him into a deep sleep.

He was comforted. Didn't know if had been the hot shower, the big breakfast, Edith's words or maybe it was because he had talked to God. It could have been because for the first time since the shooting, he felt Hutch's presence. Heard that voice and Hutch's laugh. There in the room with him-- comforting him and pressing him firmly into a peaceful rest.

Maybe his prayers had been answered.

-oo-

It felt good to be back where he should be, sitting next to Hutch and waiting. The Dobeys had taken good care of him and he appreciated their friendship, felt a little stronger.

Starsky continued to wait, to watch, to believe and, to everyone's surprise, Hutch's heart continued to beat.

Doctor Riche began to look at Starsky with a curious glance whenever he entered the room. One day he told Starsky he was taking Hutch off the respirator.

"He's gonna be all right, huh?"

"Things are definitely turning around. It's really quite amazing. Sometimes…things are working around in the background… and…I don't know how all this…"

No longer listening to the doctor Starsky remembered what Edith had said… "_things get turned around."_

And Starsky was there the next day when Hutch's consciousness…his spirit…returned to the world just as it had left it. A loud deep gasp for air came from him, fear and pain in his eyes, and Starsky's strong hold on him.

Starsky huddled close to Hutch, gently squeezing his arm as he whispered to him, "You're ok, babe. Still with us. Still with us."

Hutch was too weak to turn to him. The drugs, closing his eyes, returned him to temporary hibernation.

Starsky, overwhelmed with emotion, sat there crying for a long while before he rang for the nurses to give them the good news.

(tbc)


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for reading. I know you're out there and I appreciate you reading my story.

There were a lot more revisions in this section. Please forgive any typos.

-oo-

**CHAPT3****  
**  
The Torino's tires were spinning wildly as it screeched to a halt just in front of Hutch who had the suspect face down in the dirt.

A pissed and annoyed Starsky, his gun already drawn, jumped from the car. Looking at the suspect and then to Hutch, admonishing him in a scolding voice, he barked at his partner, "Ya a little quick out the gate ain't ya, Blondie."

Hutch gave him a too big smile. "Ahh, nothing like a good run to get the old ticker goin."

"That's not funny," Starsky said with all the seriousness he could muster as Hutch continued to handcuff the man he had chased through several alleyways. "You know," Starsky continued with his reprimand, "Doc hasn't signed off on ya runnin' marathons yet. As I remember it, you're _supposed_ to be takin' it easy. If you hadn't jumped out of the car, we coulda caught up with this guy in a coupla minutes."

"Yeah, Starsk," Hutch turned to give him a dark look that contrasted with the next words he spoke. "But where's the fun in that."

Pulling the handcuffed suspect to his feet, Hutch gestured to Starsky to open the car door.

Unmoving, Starsky stood his ground, staring down his partner. Trying to read his face. But Hutch's steely blue eyes refused to reveal anything. Hutch frowned and then nodded his head toward the car. "Last thing I heard we were cops. We gonna bust this guy or let him go?"

Starsky, knew there would come a time and a place for real talk. Now wasn't the right time. Acquiescing, he side stepped the 'warning-danger ahead' feeling in his gut and with irritation, flung open the rear car door. Holstering his weapon he said, "Yeah, we're gonna bust 'em."

-oo-

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong with Hutch.

Starsky picked at the label on his sixth beer of the evening and if asked, would have described his current condition as miserably drunk. Watching his partner work his way through the bar. _The person_ who had been out there on the streets with him these past weeks, laughed like Hutch—talked like him, too. This new Hutch making the rounds at Huggy's was stopping to speak to all the people who knew him. And nobody seemed to notice the difference. Fooling _them_ but _not_ fooling Starsky.

No way was this 6 foot 1, blond-haired replication of his partner—Hutch.

_His_ _partner_, at least the way he remembered him—was a guy who carried a certain light in his eyes. A light --Starsky could find anytime he needed to squash his own fear or anxiety. Or wanted to share a secret no one else in the room knew. It was a light that assured Starsky day after day that Hutch had showed up ready, willing and able to share himself. A guy who was invested in being more than just a fellow cop, but a friend…a best friend…a blood brother. He hadn't seen that guy since the day his partner took a slug to the chest and died in his arms.

Couldn't anybody else see this person calling himself Ken Hutchinson was an imposter?

The man who occupied the passenger seat next to him in the Torino didn't have a light in his eyes—they were void of any real emotion. How could that be the same Hutch who could fly off a twenty-minute rant over the newest thing that had hit a nerve and a few hours later spend as much time discussing the beauty of the formation of the clouds in the sky?

His best friend, Ken Hutchinson, had always been plugged into the world around him …and into Starsky.

_And_ would have known how much trouble Starsky was still having with what had happened on the night Hutch's blood had pooled in the crevices of a cobblestoned street. They would have sat shoulder to shoulder and had one of those conversations where both of them tried to heal the other's wounds.

Plainly, Starsky had concluded, this new incarnation of Hutch…just…wasn't his partner.

The whole thing reminded him of one of those old sci-fi pictures where the alien takes possession of some poor slob. Nobody in those movies ever knows there's an alien among them until it's too late. Things always ended badly.

"_Hey, Starsky—y'alright?_ You're sucking them down like I'm gonna run out. _You know_-- I got a fridge packed with brew in the wayback." Huggy's booming voice interrupted the peculiar thoughts that were streaming through his head like sport scores across the bottom of a television screen.

"Mm'fine." Speaking out loud was more difficult than he'd expected and seriously had him reconsidering that seventh beer he was going to order.

"_Ahh_, mood deficiency I see," Huggy kidded.

"Whatever," Starsky responded grumpily.

"Looks like your blond blintz of a partner is having a good time," Huggy shouted over the noise.

"Looks…are deceiving'" Starsky mumbled, mostly for his ears only.

"_What?"_

"Nuthin."

"So how come you're over here and he's over there?" Huggy's facial expression was pure concern and confusion and actually made Starsky feel a stab of guilt, which he shuddered off.

He shrugged a non-answer to the question posed to him and Huggy squinted a quizzical stare back and forth between the two partners before he offered his own shrug and went back to tending his bar.

Starsky grunted to himself and turned his attention back to watching Hutch. Was he the only one in Bay City who could see the trouble that was right in front of them?

On the job, things were getting dangerous. Hutch seemed to be fueled by some kind of over the top bravado that was churning the acid in Starsky's stomach. It was only a matter a time before such rash actions, like chasing down a perp without Starsky as back up would result in someone getting hurt. _Or killed_.

Any cop shot in the line of duty, has to talk to someone. To make sure they're okay before they get their gun back and hit the streets again. Apparently, Hutch had managed to fool the doctor, too. All cops know what the shrinks want to hear and Starsky imagined Hutch put on a phony smile and threw out a line of bull to slip under the radar.

And then what really made Starsky mad was the way Hutch pretended like he was enjoying every moment of living-- Isn't that exactly how people are supposed to act when they've been turned back from death's door? Hutch put on a big show of enthusiasm for the other cops at the precinct, for Dobey, and for Edith, who called in regularly to see how Hutch was doing. And for anyone else who would fall for it. But it wasn't genuine…Starsky knew that much.

This new Hutch was just going through the motions. It gave Starsky the creeps and he felt disconnected from the man he had grown to love.

Shamefully, he also had to admit, his own attitude about the situation was only giving Hutch more fuel to burn out like a meteor falling to earth. And Starsky would have gladly given his right arm to stop that from happening—but he didn't know how.

The nightmare of his best friend dying as he clutched him to his chest, trying to share his own heartbeat to keep Hutch alive, had disabled him somehow. And he was unable to disengage from the horror of it.

The thought of Hutch ending up at death's door –again, the fear of it – was paralyzing Starsky. And his own inability to deal with that night and the space death had put between them had allowed Hutch free reign to create some kind of false front.

It wasn't like Starsky had done nothing to help his friend. For weeks after the shooting, keeping the news reporters and cameras from invading Hutch's private space, had become his everyday battle. The news vultures dressed up in costume…as hospital staff, flower deliverymen…long lost relatives of Hutch's… had zapped all of Starsky's energy and patience. Any hour of the day or night they would show up. Trying to get the inside scoop of how 'The Cop' in the hot news story had survived the brutal shooting. _"Reports say Officer Hutchinson was DOA- is that true?" "Where is the Russian ballerina?"_ "_Are they getting married?" "Does he have a scar?"  
_  
_Yeah, a scar on his soul. Want a picture_? was Starsky's chosen heated response until Dobey smartly figured out just the right number of uniform cops and where to station them to prevent the reporters access to Hutch's floor in the hospital.

Eventually the reporters stopped coming around. The public lost interest and everyone went on to the next big story. "The Murder/Suicide of a Couple Married 27 Years-- News at 11." The couple had twelve kids who now would have their chance at being hounded by the press looking for personal and private family secrets that might serve as entertainment to an audience eagerly waiting to hear why and how this all went down.

Starsky was also distracted by the repeated calls from an always hysterical Anna, who had been forced to return to Russia after the attempt on her life- and wasn't going to be able to be at the side of her "Hootch." It made his heart ache—trying to calm her fears while his all too consuming fear was nearly tearing up his insides. The Russian ballerina needed to hear him tell her it was okay that she wasn't there when, in all honesty, Starsky thought she should have been there --when Hutch opened his eyes. After all, the guy had put his life on the line for her. Hell, it was only a little red tape that she had to fight while Hutch was left fighting for his life. It was the least she could do--his partner had taken a bullet for her for God's sake.

Had Hutch's cop brain given a thought about it before he put his lover's heart in the line of fire? That unanswered question simmered under Starsky's surface. And maybe he was pissed about that, too.

Death sure was unsettling.

When Starsky had sat by Hutch's bedside back in ICU, he came to the realization that a person, dying and returning to life not once—_but twice,_ had to be changed. Impacted by such an event. And he had vowed to be there for his partner no matter what.

But he had never expected their relationship to be any different.

He never expected this fabricated hollow clone of a friendship that had taken shape. It was like one of those knock off designer bags they sold in Chinatown- looks rich but ain't worth a dime to them that's had the real thing.

Starsky had been blind-sided because all those days in recovery Hutch had needed him-- reached for him like he always did when he was in pain or distress.

When it was time for Hutch to get out of bed, they had shuffled down the hospital corridors together, Hutch's weight resting on him and his arm tightly looped around Starsky's waist. And once, in a very non-cynical exhibition of his wit, Hutch had gritted out "Dead man walking.' And both of them had laughed until they cried. Everything seemed like it was going to be all right.

After Hutch left the hospital, for reasons Starsky couldn't explain or understand, something shifted to a weird place. And even though, Starsky stayed at Hutch's for a few weeks –making sure his partner got meals and helping him get in and out of the shower, and dispensing meds and all the rest--somehow.with each passing day, they grew farther and farther apart from each other. Hutch stopped reaching out for his help, instead he became closed-mouth about his pains and his feelings. And Starsky on more that a few nights watched Hutch twist and turn his way through nightmares he refused to discuss.

Then one afternoon, Starsky arrived at Hutch's apartment to find his overnight bag dumped at the front door. "Go home, Starsk," was all Hutch had said.

Soon after, alien Hutch showed up. Bigger, better… more improved. Face plastered with that false smile and everybody sighed with relief. _Oh, Hutch is back!_

_Oh, yeah, where is he?_ Starsky wanted to yell in their faces. And when Starsky had gingerly tried to explain to Huggy-- _Hutch_ wasn't _Hutch_, Huggy had waved his arms in the air and walked off muttering something like, "One day you guys are gonna drive me nuts."

Starsky realized his own behavior had to come into question, too. He had some weird thoughts about the situation that he couldn't seem to control. And when Hutch had told him to go home that day, he was ashamed to admit hewas glad to put some distance between them. He was still in a tailspin from Hutch's 'death'. His grief was still palpable and he couldn't tell anyone he was grieving the lost of his friend. At least not when Hutch was standing right next to him.

It was confusing as hell. And Starsky found himself in a constant state of fear. Hutch's on the job daredevil escapades where getting more more outrageous and Starsky wondered what Hutch might do without the safety net of his constant supervision to reel him in. How could a guy who just escaped death—TWICE-- be so compelled to go knocking at its door again? It was pissing Starsky off royally.

Starsky found it strange that he started to feel more comfortable when Hutch wasn't around and he was sure Hutch probably loved seeing his backside when he exited a room.

The thing was they didn't even look at each other very much anymore. Each of them avoiding that eye-to-eye contact. Strange new rules of engagement had silently been negotiated. Don't talk about it, act like nothing was wrong, get away from each other, crowd as many other folks as possible in the space between me and thee.

The work on the street became frenzied. Hutch pounced on every call that came over the radio, despite Starsky's attempts to slow down the pace. Starsky, exhausted, found himself falling into bed at night –barely missing hanging out with Hutch, as the need for rest became the priority.

This couldn't go on much longer.

"_Gotta stop thinkin',_" Starsky said out loud, trying to quell his inner conversation. All the ruminating was starting to give him a headache. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to take a moment of meditation. When he opened them, Hutch was directly in his line of vision and Starsky decided he had had enough out all the discouraging background voices he had become host to. He'd let his sensory of sight take over for a change, and just look at what was going on in Huggy's bar on that Friday night.

The colored lights overhead reflected oddly on the heavy smoke that hung in the air, filling the bar with ghostly, misshapen figures. He knew music was playing loudly because he could feel the vibration of the bass under his feet but the loud voices of the crowd drowned out all the rest.

Starsky didn't feel part of the scene and considered an early exit to rest his tired brain on his pillow. Hutch wouldn't want to leave though. And for some reason Starsky couldn't leave him.

So, instead, Starsky leaned back against the bar, sulking, as he continued to study his friend.

Hutch.

He watched the blond head of his partner bounce to the music as he finished off his beer. Hutch, waved to the bartender at the smaller bar in the back of the packed club to give him another, flashing him pearly whites and glibly yelled something Starsky couldn't make out. The bartender high-fived him and walked away with a big grin on his face. "Humph, guess you _are_ having a good time, pal," Starsky grumbled.

The exchange was interesting enough to Starsky to make him sit up. He slid his mug off the bar and took a big gulp as he kept his gaze glued to his partner and the activity around him.

To Hutch's right side sat a drunken, disheveled, weary looking man trying to light a cigarette. On his left a redhead, quite shapely, sporting a top tight enough to show off the full mounds of her breast. Flirting, she wiggled her body close to Hutch's while she leaned over the bar in a overtly non-discreet way. Rubbing her breast against one of Hutch's hands. Starsky smirked and took another gulp of beer. He had seen the aggressive behavior of women trying to bed his partner many times before. While they both got their equal share of attention from the ladies- there was always that small percentage of women, enamored by Hutch's blond hair/blue eyedness, whose attempts to entice him, crept over the line of moral perpetuity. The redhead-- was crossing that line.

Hutch stared down at their human contact, lifted up an affected leer...and then turned away from her to talk to the drunken man on his other side.

Starsky snickered.

He saw the woman give her girlfriend a 'what's up with him' frown. In less than a beat another man nearby became the recipient of her lustful attention.

Starsky thought to himself-- she probably didn't know how lucky she was. He smirked as he recalled a headline he had read at the grocery store last week while he waited in line- "I GAVE BIRTH TO AN ALIEN BABY!"

His shame and guilt for the sick joke was immediate. Where had all this hostility toward Hutch come from? Did Hutch deserve that from him? Nauseous from the beer sloshing around in his stomach and from the uncalled for dig at his partner, Starsky swallowed hard, hoping it would end his queasiness.

Hutch had fought off death to make it back into that seat next to Starsky in the Torino. Starsky had begged and pleaded with God to keep him there. And Hutch had survived. So—what was the problem here?

Okay, his partner was acting a little weird. He certainly had the right.

A weird Hutch was better than a dead one any day.

What the heck had he been thinking? Starsky suddenly felt the need to shake off his alcohol high.

_Wait a minute_--

How did he let things get so far off the track?

Hutch and him-- were best buddies. Brothers.

And no bullet could change that fact.

He saw Hutch intently focusing in on the inebriated man. And watched, as Hutch listened…and listened…and listened. Hutch sat down next to the man and Starsky saw the look of surprise on the guy's face. He looked humbled, grateful even— seemed to sober up a little in the midst of their exchange, Hutch putting his hand on the guy's forearm as he talked to him. The guy shook his head in drunken agreement and then-- both him and Hutch started giggling.

It was a real moment.

A moment a creature from out of space couldn't have. A moment that reminded Starsky how good Hutch was.

There was Hutch – in all his tall, flaxen-haired, Midwestern goofiness.

Starsky had to smile.

Hutch wasn't no alien.

He was just hiding.

Keeping everyone he knew, including Starsky, at a distance. Apparently, plied with enough alcohol, Hutch had let his guard down—came out to play with a down on his luck stranger. The good samaritan in Starsky's partner never could resist helping a person in genuine need of little encouragement or a bit of cash, even when he was nearly broke.

Starsky grinned with pride. _That_-- was the Hutch he knew. Then a sobering thought stole the grin away.

So—_why _was Hutch hiding from him?

What was the secret? That was what Starsky had to know.

Suddenly feeling the need to protect his own secret--his discovery of the game Hutch had been playing--Starsky quickly turned away from them, nearly falling off the barstool underneath him. "_Idiot,"_ he berated himself for allowing Hutch to shut him out.

Hutch wasn't fearless – he was fearful.

Hutch was scared shitless and probably needed some serious shrink time, but he wasn't an alien.

How is a person-- whose life is forced out of his body by a tiny piece of metal driven into his chest, supposed to just pick up where they left off at?

Just go back to waking up to a bowl of organic cereal and goat's milk-- like everything was all good. How could they not be terrified of running around a corner to come face to face with Death again? Who couldn't tell anyone that just 'being grateful to be alive' was too simplistic a way to describe how he must be feeling. Who was sruggling to be strong and fearless--because Hutch always tried to do more than what was expected of him.

Whose best friend in the whole world just sits back and lets him take another spin at the "Wheel of Misfortune" -- Hutch, defiantly confronting what he was most afraid of. Death and dying.

_Finally_, Starsky thought. _Finally_ he was thinking straight.

It had been a case smoke and mirrors. Neither one of them able to get a handle on the distorted, dark and twisted feelings coming at both of them from all different directions.

All of it – stactic. Messing up the signal he should have been tuned in on. How had he let Hutch's death come between them? Grief-- to push them apart? Starsky had to shut out all the crap that was confusing him. There was only one thing that was important.

Hutch was alive.

Truth was- Hutch was the best friend he ever had, best friend he would _ever_ have- he was more than grateful to still have him.

_Still with us babe_.

Hutch needed him. Starsky rubbed at the stinging in his eyes and turned back to watching his partner.

The drunk Hutch was talking to certainly had enough sense to be grateful for him, and just a few minutes ago that guy didn't know the difference between Hutch from one of those colored smoky ghosts that hung in the air overhead.

"Ass!" he said aloud. Gladly announcing his mistake to the world as he continued to scold himself.

"_What?"_ Huggy, delivering a drink to a nearby patron, looked offended.

"Ohhh, no-- not you, Hug. _Me_." He spoke out of the side out of his mouth, too absorbed in Hutch and The Drunk show playing out before him.

Huggy, lightly patted his shoulder and leaned over the bar to quietly assure him, "He's gonna be alright, Starsk."

Nodding, Starsky slurred, "Huuutch—ain't no alien."

"_Righhht."_ Huggy rolled his eyes and then pointing to the beer in Starsky's hand, announced, "That's your last one, bro. You're officially cut off."

(tbc)


	3. Chapter 3

_author's note: This chapter is shorter for dramatic purposes. Sorry for the delay, the next chapter will post in a more timely fashion. Thank you for reading _

**Chapt 4  
**  
"Hutch," Starsky said with a softness that even surprised him, "I wanna talk."

"I told you. I'm-m… fine. If you would just stop harping on it!"

"Hutch, we ain't talking about gardening or what to have for lunch. _You died_. I think I got a right to say something about that."

Hutch's eyes closed and Starsky watched them open. And saw a darkness he had never expected to see in his partner's face.

"I don't want to talk," Hutch told him.

Starsky couldn't let it go. He had to find a way to cross the divide between them and turned to the man sitting beside him. His leather jacket squeaked against the car upholstery with the movement. Starsky had got up that morning with the intention of making Hutch face certain realities. On the top of the list was that Hutch needed to talk to someone. And if it couldn't be him, then Starsky was going to find someone Hutch could talk to. Now it was almost the end of their shift and Starsky had finally gotten the nerve to do it.

They were sitting in the Torino, waiting for some instructions from Dobey and the timing had seemed perfect. "Listen, _buddy_…" He hadn't said it that way in a long time. The endearment was full of as much intimacy as he could put in it. Praying it would get through to his partner and Starsky could swear he saw Hutch's body relax. So he kept talking "…somethin's happen. Neither one of us is dealing with it in a healthy way. Now, I give you that maybe, yeah…I'm afraid. Every time we get a call…I…"

"Sounds like this is _your_ problem, "Hutch said, cutting him off in an attempt to steer the conversation away from him.

Starsky sighed out loudly. "No, partner-- this is _our _problem. Cuz you're swinging completely the other way-- like you're the man of steel. Can't you see that? Throwing all caution to the wind. _What's going on here?"_

Starsky could see something come over Hutch, quietly working his friend, who turned his face to look out the car window.

Hutch shook his head, closing his eyes to block Starsky's plea to let him in. Then, almost in an afterthought, he moved his mouth like he was going to open up the lock box he had become, but he said nothing.

Starsky's eyes examined Hutch and waited.

"Let's get out of here," was all Starsky got in reply.

**-oo-**

"HUUUTCH! Wait! Wait a minute!"

Catching up to him, Starsky grabbed him, tossing Hutch solidly against the building. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Hutch's eyes were on fire. Trying to push Starsky out of his way- his voice matched Starsky s intensity, "CATCHIN' THE BAD GUY. _REMEMBER?_ LET ME GO!"

"NO!"

Hutch challenged him with the burn in his eyes but Starsky held his ground.

"No way! You tryin' to get yourself killed? What are you doing taking off after that guy without backup?"

"I gotta ask you permission to do my job. That it, buddy?"

A frustrated Starsky reluctantly released him, getting in his face, Starsky said, "Hutch…you're… acting like a crazy person…ever since…"

Hutch cut him off with an aggression in his voice Starsky had never heard directed at him before. "Ever since WHAT?" Hutch growled.

The heated discussion of the awful memory made Starsky weak-kneed, and it took the breath right out of him.

Hutch stood tall, to deliver the words, "Starsky, I'm a cop. Nothin's change. You gotta let it go." Leaving Starsky standing alone, Hutch walked back to the Torino in big angry strides.

Starsky stalled a moment to regain his composure, trying to shake off the images again. The blood and Hutch's lifeless body.

He slammed the door hard as he got in the car, starting it, he revved the engine. Leaning over with a taunting voice, he pointed a finger into Hutch's face. "I'm watching you, pal."

Silence filled the car as the fire in Hutch's eyes roared.

"Yeah, yeah," he answered defiantly.

**-oo-**

"But he _won'_t talk to me." Starsky told the woman he'd rousted out of bed at 2 a.m.

The psychologist, who worked at Memorial Hospital, sipped her steaming cup of tea. "Well, he's gonna hit a wall, and if you're there when that happens you'll be able to get through to him. Maybe…"

Starsky sighed heavily. "Me and Hutch—we never had a problem talking. I'm not sure why we're both on opposite sides of this thing." He groaned quietly and rubbed a fist across tired and red eyes. "It's like …his adrenaline is in overdrive and he can't bring it down."

"I've had a few people that I've counseled, you know, who died during surgery or were DOA's and were resuscitated. So I've had the opportunity to do a little research on the subject."

"So you can help me out with what's going on with him?"

"Not necessarily. There are definitely cases on record of people going into this hyper-overdrive after they've gone through a near death experience. But you're telling me that Hutch seems to be going after the flea that bit him. Like he's courting danger…death again. I find that very interesting."

The comment irked a world-weary Starsky, "Well I'm glad you find it so interesting—cuz I find it disturbing and it's scaring the crap outta me…but I'm glad you think that he's such a curiosity. He's my partner and he's in trouble…" Frustrated and tired, he stopped talking.

"I'm sorry Dave." The woman slid slender fingers over his forearm and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry… I know how close you guys are. I didn't mean to sound so detached."

He hung his head. "_I'm sorry_. Didn't mean to go off like that." He patted her hand in apology. "I appreciate you comin' out in the middle of the night like this. I'm just worried about him."

"I know you are. It's hard to lay out what might be going on with him. There are a few different ways a near death experience can affect a person's behavior. Some people are exuberant--happy to be alive, stopping to smell every flower, and for some it's a very spiritual kind of re-birth. Others are plagued with horrific images of death or dying. Now maybe it's none of those for your partner. But it could be some kind of irrational conclusion or supposition that he's fixated on."

Intrigued, Starsky sat up, " Now that sounds like Hutch. What you're saying is he could get some screwy thought about what happened to him in his head and it's making him act crazy."

"Well, I guess that's one way of putting it."

"So, if I could just get Hutch to confess _this conclusion_ he's come to and hash it out with him—then maybe he'll be able to get past this thing?"

"Well, keep it mind, whatever it is-- it might be quite valid. Without seeing him, it's hard to be sure. My best guess—_wanta hear it?"_

"_Absolutely." _Starsky was feeling hopeful for the first time in a long while.

"Now you said you don't think he's had some kind of psychotic episode."

"No, I don't think so. Hutch is hiding, and he's spooked and trying to handle it on his own. But I don't think he's mentally ill."

"Well then, I say-- confront him. Shake it out of him. Get in his face and make him talk to you. And if you find you can't handle it on your own—you better get him some help ASAP. Before something bad happens."

Starsky stared back at her, the blunt statement, was a sobering one. "Something bad already happened, " he sadly reflected.

"I'm just saying you damn well better know what you're messing with."

"Right." Starsky answered distractedly, already in deep thought about what he had to do next.

(tbc)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapt 4**

It had been raining for three days in a row and Starsky needed to talk to Hutch.

Hutch had been avoiding him like the plague since the last day of their workweek when Hutch had once more refused to share what it was that was pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

He had ignored Starsky's phone calls, and pretended not to hear the soft knuckled drumming at his front door.

Sadly on that very afternoon, an off-duty cop at another precinct had been shot and killed trying to stop a fight between some neighbors.

All cops take another cop's death hard, take it personal. And Starsky was sure the young officer's violent death had to stir up some things in Hutch that he wouldn't be able to handle on his own. Not anymore. Starsky needed to find his partner and do what the psychologist had suggested. Confront him. Hoping and praying Hutch would take his help this time.

He couldn't stop feeling like the clock was running out for him and Hutch to fix the mess they were in.

Starsky had been to all the places Hutch might try to hide out and several hours into his search finally Starsky did find him.

Hutch sat on the sea wall, drenched by the heavy rain and shivering from the cold wind that came in with the waves splashing on to the beach below him. Suddenly afraid over what he was going to have to do; Starsky took a deep breath as he slowly approached him.

He knew without seeing his friend's face the distress that would be there. Starsky spoke softly,"Hutch?"

Waited for a reply before trying again,"Buddy?"

The rain that relentlessly pelted them couldn't hide the tears streaming down Hutch's face as he looked out at the ocean.

_"Hutch?"_

No response. Starsky pulled his jacket collar tighter around his neck and helplessly stood next to his distraught friend. "Hey, it's raining. Come on. Let's get out of here, huh?"

Hutch's eyes, vacant and red, blinked away rain and his sorrow. "That kid—Starsky. He was only a year on the job...he had two kids. Young ones...now they don't have father. He's dead. _Why, Starsk?"_

"Whattaya asking me—why him and not you? Is that what you're thinkin'? C'mon. "Starsky insisted, avoiding answering the question.

"N-nothing makes sense." Hutch stammered

Starsky plopped down next to him, carefully draping an arm around Hutch's shoulder. "Let's get you inside, huh?"

As if he finally understanding it for the first time, a shivering Hutch sadly confirmed, "I died."

"I know."

"Dyin's not as easy as it looks." Hutch wasn't being sarcastic.

"Nobody ever said it was, buddy."

The rain picked up, splattering the wetness of fat drops of rain on their already soaked clothes.

"Don't know what to do now," Hutch said with wearily. His light hair, dark and plastered to his scalp.

He looked like a lost soul and it made Starsky's heart sink, "Come on, gonna get you inside."

"I don't know what to do. Nothing feels right."

"I know." Starsky stood and reached down to lift Hutch up. "Let's go, huh?"

Hutch weakly tried to slip away from Starsky's hands.

But Starsky taking control of the situation, took a firmer hold on his friend. "Can't run any more, buddy. Taking you home. You and me got some talkin' to do."

**Chapt 5**

Inspecting the circles under Hutch's eyes, "Ain't getting much sleep, huh?" Starsky said, trying to keep a casual sound in his voice as he stopped towel drying his hair to give Hutch his full attention.

"Life's too short," A now sullen Hutch said, adding a shrug of shoulders to it.

Starsky smiled, sharing in the sick reflection. He could tell Hutch was already trying to retreat back under the hard shell he'd been wearing.

"So what now?" Hutch demanded. His attempt to intimidate failed, and Starsky shrugged. "Why don't we just talk."

Hutch, quite self-consciously pulled the blanket Starsky had given him up over his shoulders. He frowned angrily, sarcastically suggesting, "Why don't you just smash my hand in a car door."

"Probably easier, huh." Starsky had to chuckle at the pouting expression that was making his best friend look like a disobedient kid. Okay, then--how's 'bout some coffee?" He smiled thoughtfully at Hutch, making him look away guiltily.

"Sure." Slightly defused Hutch shook his head like he was agreeing to be civil and open to at least drinking coffee.

He picked up the silent 'but I'm not gonna talk about it' hidden in Hutch's one word response. Thinking the coffee was a good idea though, Starsky quietly went about the chore. He was nervous and wondered if confronting Hutch, as the psychologist had suggested, was about to do more damage that good. Maybe he was over confident about his ability to handle the problem. What if he confronted his friend and wasn't able to rein in whatever he was about to try and unleash? Maybe Hutch's anger, fear, or whatever it was that was eating him up on the inside was a such a huge ball of fire that it might consume them both. His hand was shaking and Starsky slid a sweaty palm along his jeans. Taking a calming breath he leaned against the kitchen counter for support. They had been through too much together for him not to trust the bond between them to survive anything. It wouldn't be the first time life _or_ death had tried to separate them. But, Hutch was alive and belonged in the land of the living, and it was time for Hutch to start living again.

"We can do this." He spoke the words and the meaning and commitment in them shot through him like a lightning bolt.

Watching from the kitchen he could see Hutch get up to look at the rain outside with serious fascination and Starsky, taking a boxer's stance, bowing his head to center himself, made his decision.

As soon as the coffee was brewed, Starsky would start the rescue, reclamation, and recovery of his best friend.

Death be damned.

-o-

"Here you go"

Hutch slipped a hand out from under the blanket to retrieve the cup. His red-rimmed eyes darted away from his friend's inspection.

"You still cold?" Starsky asked, taking a sip from his own steaming cup.

"No." Hutch lied. "M'fine."

Perhaps it was a bit of theatrics, but Starsky let a moment pass for effect. "Hmm." It was ample enough commentary to imply that neither one of them could possibly believe Hutch was doing 'fine'. "Actually, that's kinda what I want to talk about," Starsky added.

Hutch cut him a rude stare, and frowned back at him before heading for the couch. Starsky followed, sitting close.

He put his coffee down and wrung his hands before he spoke. He dug deep to find the right tone in his voice to engage Hutch in a real conversation. "Hutch…imagine… if it was you and _I_ was the one… I mean, I never felt anything like that before. I couldn't believe how much it hurt…"

It didn't take much of anything for Hutch's emotion to boil over. His gauge was already on high and Starsky wasn't surprised at all that the "talk" was immediately escalated to the battle that had to happen to set things right.

"Well it wasn't you! What! Was that _you_ that gave up…lost the fight, let…let everybody down. Don't think I don't know what you're thinking!"

"See, see that's just more crazy talk, Hutch."

_"You weren't mad?" _

Starsky's closed mouth gave Hutch his answer and he rose clumsily to his feet as he aggressively made his way to exit the apartment.

Starsky moved quickly to stop Hutch, putting himself in front of the door.

Both stared each other down as silence raged between them.

"Okay," Starsky conceded. "Yes." Looking down, as he prepared to make the admission, "Maybe I was mad at you but mad at myself, too. We never shoulda took the chance of taking Anna through that crowd. And no, I wasn't happy 'bout you getting in between her and that bullet—but I wouldn't've expected you to do nothin' less. I know you heart, pal. _OK?"_

The answer seemed to momentarily appeased Hutch.

"Okay, we got that outta the way, what else you got?" Starsky challenged.

" I don't wanta do this." Hutch tried again to get by the man blocking his way out of the apartment.

Starsky tugged on him, whipping him around so they were face to face. "Why-why can't you talk to me? This isn't the way we work. And you know it. You can't be changing the rules just cuz you can't deal with what's happened."

Hutch tried to pull away.

Not releasing him, Starsky shook his head angrily. "I understand that you feel weird.. .can't get your legs under ya. And that you need... time, right? To work all of it out. But-- there's somethin', somethin'--more going on here."

"I mean it, Starsk. Get out of my way." Hutch threatened.

"NO! _You ain't going anywhere--_ till you tell me what the hell's wrong with you. Damn it, Hutch you beat it. Don't you get this… a lot of folks would be happy to have survived…" Starsky faltered and then rebounded. "But..what I don't understand is, you're acting like things didn't work out the way they shoulda …like…like you're…chasing it….Wait a minute…" Realization surfaced on his face and Starsky having come to some conclusions, eyed Hutch suspiciously. "Like you're trying to set things straight by finding that bullet again. _Like you think – you're supposed to be dead." _

Hutch's face blanched at Starsky's spoken revelation and he tried to back away.

"That's it, right?" Starsky, fully loaded, got in his face, roughly shoving him. "You're s'posed to be dead, _right?_"

Getting no answer, another push followed it, "_Right?"_

Hutch's feet got snagged by the blanket he had let fall, and he tripped over it, landing hard onto the floor. He scrambled to kick it off, while still backing up to get away from Starsky's attacking interrogation.

Butting up against a wall, Hutch sat there as a seething Starsky towered over him. "Just say it!" Starsky yelled, poking him in the shoulder.

Hutch tried to turn his head but Starsky pushed him again as the confrontation continued, "_Just say it_," Starsky demanded.

Hutch, shuddered and jerked his face to the opposite side, trying to block Starsky's access to his rising emotion.

He shouted. "SAY IT!"

Hutch slowly began nodding in agreement, wordlessly mouthing his agreement until another aggressive shove from Starsky forced the words from Hutch's mouth.

The explosion came back to confront Starsky's accusation."RIGHT, DAMN IT! I SHOULD BE DEAD! Yeah-- Me! Not that rookie cop and not y--." Hutch abruptly stopped. Breathing hard like he couldn't contain his emotions. There was something Hutch had let slip out, that he was he was desperately trying to conceal.

And Starsky quickly picked up on it.

"Whoa, wait a second. You were gonna say …_not me_? What does that mean?"

Hutch hung his head.

Shocked, Starsky let Hutch slip from his grip. Starsky'sexpression sickened with the admission of the truth Hutch finally had spoken and it took the Starsky down, dropping him to the floor near Hutch.

Hutch sat up, maneuvering himself away from Starsky.

Starsky sighed and tiredly dragged a palm over his face. Feeling stupid for only just now seeing what the problem with Hutch had been from the very beginning. "This whole thing, isn't about you, _is it?" _

Hutch seemed to shrink under the weight of Starsky's observation. The last bit of fight in him fading away-- letting Starsky to see the naked vulnerability ofhis friend. The look on his face was one Starsky wouldn't ever forget. This was the essence of the man that was his partner and best friend.

"So Buddy," Starsky was bringing it all to the surface. "This is about me-- isn't it, Hutch?"

Hutch shrugged and shook his head like he was going to try and deny everything, but instead he started talking."I don't know what I'm doing here…I feel like it's just a waiting game, now. Like the next time is just 'round the corner… I don't wanna wait for some guy to jump out nowhere and come after one of us... and all I keep thinking is maybe things are all mixed up… like maybe, maybe I…I should have let go, Starsk. Maybe that was my time go. And…maybe next time… next time, it's _you. C_uz I messed with how things should be. I mean-- it's just us out there. So it's gotta come down to--It's you or it's me…odds are fifty/fifty,_ right?_ Gonna be one of us, huh?" Finally, looking for the answers to all his questions in Starsky's face.

_"_So, let me get this straight_--__you feel obligated to chase after every bullet out there because one of 'em might have my __name on it?"_

Hutch contemplated the statementthat sounded perculiar to hear said outloud, especially with the tone Starsky had used to pronounce it.

"_You're an idiot, you know that?"_

Hutch blinked dumbly at the quip.

Starsky shook his head.

Defending his behavior, Hutch blurted out, "Look Starsky don't get me wrong, I…I don't ever want to go through that again. I don't want you to go through it either. But...I can't…watch you die…I can't do that. I just want...things to be right."

"So what? Things would 'be right' if you weren't here? Whattaya you mean? No way, Hutch. No way… better for me if you wuz dead. What, you think you messed with the odds by messing with fate? Buddy, there ain't no such thing as fate. Either you're supposed to be here or you're not. You bein' alive don't put my life in jeopardy. You dodgin' a bullet don't increase the chances of me taking one. That ain't up to you."

Hutch just shook his like it was too hard for him to process what Starsky was telling him.

"I got news for you, babe." Starsky continued, "You're here…cuz lotsa folks was prayin'...believed… believed in a miracle. Made some deals with God that, well, I for one am gonna keep."

Starsky's own words made him reflect. "Damn it, Hutch we both got this thing so twisted." An odd smile accompanied his next comment, "Guess I ain't helping you to let go of some of this stuff by making sure you always got your mittens clipped to your snow pants every time you leave the house."

Hutch studying the floor, smiled and replied, "Wouldn't be a good mom, if you didn't ask."

Starsky laid a hand on Hutch's leg." Buddy, don't put so much into why you're here. If, that's all you wanted know… I can tell you the answer to that one."

Starsky thought Hutch looked like a kid hearing the story about the tooth fairy for the first time as he waited for Starsky's answer.

"That's easy. You're here cuz…" his voice catching in his throat, Starsky lowered it an octave to get the rest of it out. "You're my partner. Simple. Watch my back and I watch yours, fight the bad guys, and keep Dobey on his toes."

Shaking his head in agreement, his eyes shiny with tears that spilled over, Hutch smiled at Starsky. "Yeah guess that's easy enough to remember."

"You're right where you're supposed to be. So don't go nowhere. Kay?"

Hutch sniffed and nodded. "Got it."

Starsky stood up, reaching down a hand to Hutch who took it, holding on to it with affection before allowing his friend to pull him to his feet. "Thanks, Starsk."

They stood face to face. "Anytime, partner." Starsky grinned.

Looking outside, Starsky said, "Don't look like that rain is ever gonna let up."

He made his way back to the kitchen. "Hey, how about some sandwiches. I'm starved?"

"Sure. " Hutch answered enthusiastically. Watching Starsky walk away, he called out, "What kind of deals, Starsk?" Hutch asked as he wiped some tears away with a shirt sleeve.

"Hey, that's between me and the big guy. I don't gotta tell you everything.," Starsky answered in a mocking voice and gave his friend a wink and a smile as he headed into the kitchen.

-o-

Watching the rain Starsky thought--

Some stories don't get told on the 11 o'clock news.

Lots of people watched the 11 o' clock news. Lots of people saw the story about the cop and the Russian ballerina. Some folks even followed the story of how the cop died at the scene- had miraculously survived after hours of surgery. That's all most people will ever know.

The Miracle Cop Story couldn't even begin to tell the story of the cop whose heart kept beating long after it had been stopped. Or tell the story of the cop's friends who believed in the power of prayer and of love and its power to change the world, to reach into forever and change reality.

How a great friend makes all the difference.

How would they ever know how deep a sacrifice such a man would still be willing to make time and time again to save those he loved?

They'd never hear about how that cop agonized over if he should choose life or death long after he walked out of the hospital door. Who was afraid he didn't belong here anymore…afraid his presence haunted those around him... but who had a friend to teach him something he had forgotten.

We are where we are, we are who we are, and prayers make us what we are, and love…love makes it all balance out somehow.

They wouldn't know that the cop, who was their breaking news report of the day, was free again to celebrate the life he had been given. Had lost nothing in death but gained everything in living, being a good friend, and in having a partner who would make him a cup of coffee and spend a quiet afternoon watching the rain wash away yesterday's pain.

Each one knowing the sun would bring a new day and, thank God, another chance to get this thing called life right.

Yeah, you'd never hear that on News at 11.

END


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